


Sing Me to Sleep

by agaybaddie



Category: Saw (Movies)
Genre: Adam Lives!AU, Adam is a sarcastic ass, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Brief mentions of Jigsaw, Cary Elwes, Comfort/Angst, Dreams and Nightmares, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Leigh Whannell, Love Confessions, M/M, Original Character(s), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sexual Orientation, Swearing, as per usual, but Lawrence deals with it, chainshipping - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-17
Updated: 2018-01-10
Packaged: 2019-02-15 05:05:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 9,748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13023828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agaybaddie/pseuds/agaybaddie
Summary: "I'm glad you could make it." Adam suddenly said, barely even recognizing his own trembling and shaking voice, stuck between what felt like two worlds. People turned their heads towards him, they focused on him and he didn't care. He didn't have to.And as Lawrence's eyes fell back on him, time seemed to stop. The yelp that left his lips was weak and pathetic, but when he fell to the floor and Lawrence's arms wrapped around him, that didn't matter- nothing else seemed to matter.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> i've always wanted to write about these two, but somehow never did although i've been in the fandom for four years. but here it is, some daily chainshipping to fuel your day. x

_The blinding light made Adam squeeze his eyes shut, any attempt at opening them leaving him more blinded than before. He could feel himself stretching his hands out, reaching, hoping to find something in front of him, as well as silently praying there wouldn't be anything there. A step forward and he finally noticed the sensation of tile floor underneath his feet, _ **dirty**_ tiles. What the _**hell**_ was this? Forcing himself to open his eyes, a room was revealed in front of his blurry vision. Four walls drenched in a white fading color with seemingly no escape. The beating of his heart picked up, slamming against his ribcage, together with the growing anxiety he usually calmed with cigarettes. It didn't take long for his eyes to adjust to the sudden new lightning and suddenly everything was becoming clear to him. A corpse. Sprawled out across the floor like the outlines of a body would look in any detective movie. But this was real-life. No, it _**couldn't**_ be. Adam looked around, desperate for a solution, desperate to just wake up in his shitty apartment instead. But what he found was a person opposite himself._  


Adam woke up, screams falling out of his mouth without a barrier in the way. His eyes shot open, met by the darkness and safety of his new apartment, but he wouldn't stop screaming. It was first when the sound of a neighbour banging on the wall registered in his mind and upon realizing that his eyes were stained with tears that he finally brought himself to stop. A hand against his lips, the other arm wrapped around his legs as he pulled them up to his chest. He silently cried, the sound of the tape playing on repeat in his mind. _Mostly just pathetic_. And when he finally inhaled the first proper breath in what felt like hours, there it was- the _stench _. The stench of rotting flesh and iron. None of it was real. Adam knew this. Showering didn't help, but he still found himself standing underneath the hot running water, washing and scrubbing himself over and over until his skin was red and old skin had begun to fall off. It was all he could do.__

____

He wasn't sure of how long he'd lived like this. Alone. In fear. He couldn't work, he couldn't sleep, he could barely even leave his own goddamn house without having a mere panic attack if anyone looked at him for too long, spotted a color that seemed familiar or simply made something up in his mind just so it would fit the twisted reality he experienced. Days had turned into months and soon it would've been a year (his therapist reminded him of that). A year since the bathroom. A year since he lost anything he may have had left. He tried not to think of it, but his daily sessions with Dr. Smith revolved only around that, so he couldn't exactly say he was succeeding. At least he wasn't in his old apartment complex. He'd refused to go back there- how could he ever feel safe? But then again, he didn't feel safe anywhere. Tough luck. According to all authorities he'd spoken to, it was his right to be transferred to another place "after everything he'd gone through". So he'd been given a new apartment, two blocks away from his old one. So much for recovery, eh? This was a more modern one than his old, bigger too, with clean floors in wood and white walls he'd asked to be repainted in black. They still hadn't finished, and he didn't expect them to. 

____

The memories of the bathroom had always been tough for him to carry. It was the sort of baggage he could never cut loose, and it angered him to the core. His life before the bathroom wasn't luxurious and unproblematic, but hell, it was better than this. Jigsaw called it a game- perhaps if you would've ended up dead, then you would've simply lost. But 'winning' wasn't as satisfactory as Adam had hoped it to be. He didn't feel reborn, he didn't have a purpose, he had _less _than he did before Jigsaw came into his life. After being sent home from the hospital, he found that the only family member he had left had passed away. His buddy with a band had moved away to focus on the music. Adam had nothing. And how ironic was it that the last time he felt truly alive was when he was stuck in the fucking bathroom together with the man he had stalked for weeks just to be able to get food onto his table. He hated the memories of those times, yet he needed them more than ever to be reminded of that he was a living, breathing human being. What a fucking paradox.__

____

Adam stared down into the cup of coffee in front of him on the table. He'd only taken a few sips, but it had no effect on his mood and he wasn't holding much hope that it would later on either. He wasn't even particularly fond of coffee, but he hadn't shopped in forever and his neighbour had welcomed him with the pack when he had moved into the building. Adam didn't want to be rude and decline - why, he didn't know, but he blamed Jigsaw for it - and so he had placed it far in the back of one of the cabinets in his more or less empty kitchen. Now, he was rather glad that he did, as this was the only breakfast he'd get for today (and tomorrow, probably). 

____

Thirty minutes later, wearing a black hoodie to cover his face and his usual leather jacket to protect him from the cold early-winter, Adam was stood outside of his therapist's office, the cold air biting back on the tip of his fingers as he finished the stump of a burning cigarette. He couldn't say he was thankful for surviving the bathroom, as his life now simply consisted of surviving on a daily basis, but he was thankful for his therapist being as close as he was. It was a ten minute walk down the street and a turn to the left from Adam's residence. Usually it wasn't a problem getting there and Adam helped himself by blasting rock music loudly in his ears to avoid having to face any social interaction on his way there. 

____

"Adam," Dr. Smith's voice was suddenly present, and Adam turned around to see him holding the door open for his patient. Adam forced a small smile, before he stepped inside of the warmth. He lead himself to Dr. Smith's office. It never came as a surprise to the doctor anymore, not even when Adam had done it the first few times. Adam remembered that Dr. Smith had told him that it was a form of coping mechanism - now whether Adam believed that or not was another story, but he accepted it as a possible explanation. These days he filled his head with any useless information he could. He needed that, to function somehow. It was one of the few things that would make him feel human. To feel like he wasn't completely worthless. 

____

"Nightmares again?" 

____

Dr. Smith seemed to know exactly what kind of day or night Adam'd had since their last appointment, and he was never sure if he was supposed to be amazed or suspicious of the fact. Adam only nodded though as he leaned back on the leather couch. The thought of laying down and drifting off to a dark unconsciousness right then and there crossed his mind and was all too tempting. Adam quickly drifted his gaze up to focus on Dr. Smith's eyes instead. At least for a moment. 

____

"The same?" Dr. Smith asked, scribbling something down on his notepad in his lap. 

____

"What else would it be? It's not flashbacks to when I was stabbed with a rusty nail in third grade." Adam remarked, only barely keeping the sarcasm alive in his tone. 

____

That brought a small smile to Dr. Smith's lips, something Adam didn't understand, but he was too tired to care. He always was. The doctor soon looked up from whatever it was that he was writing down and met Adam's gaze again. 

____

"And you're taking your medication?" 

____

"Yeah, why the fuck wouldn't I? Not that they help much." Adam told him with a shrug, every word his therapist spoke angering him more than the last. He looked away towards the window where the sun peeked inside through the half-shut blinds. Adam could hear Dr. Smith speaking of something new now, or maybe he was scolding him for being rude. Right now he couldn't bother to listen. He was so tired. Not just physically, but mentally. He didn't want to exist, not on these terms. But he had no idea how to change the life he was living, and this Dr. Smith wasn't doing the best job. He'd never liked therapy, and therapists never liked him. Perhaps if he'd been financially stable he could've earned a better, more qualified (in his mind) doctor. Although, knowing himself, that probably wouldn't be good enough either. 

____

"... group therapy. I think that could help you tremendously." 

____

Adam twisted his head, his neck cracking at the sudden movement. "Huh?" 

____

"I said, there's a group of Jigsaw survivers coming together to talk about their experiences. Hearing someone else talk about what they went through can make it feel more real and help you process what happened to you. So whether you like it or not, you're trying out group therapy. I think that could help you tremendously." 

____

Adam couldn't believe what he was hearing. This man wanted him to talk to a bunch of strangers about a man who attempted to have them take their own lives and somehow this would ""help"" him? He let out a scoff and shook his head. Picking on a small scab on his arm, Adam listened as Dr. Smith proceeded to speak. 

____

"I'll come with you the first time. All you have to do is listen. Then you can choose whether or not to continue. As long as you give it a shot." Dr. Smith's tone was begging, Adam could hear it. He hated it. He hated being pitied, hated being the victim. But here he was. Shrugging again, he let out a heavy breath. 

____

__"Fine, yeah. It's not like I've got anything to lose."_ _


	2. Chapter 2

The last appointment with Dr. Smith had left Adam more affected than he would've liked to admit. But in the darkness of his bedroom, crying had become a regular occurence in the nighttime. He was surprised his eyes hadn't completely dried out by now, if that even was a thing they could do. He didn't know. The fear of encountering other people that had gone through the same trauma as him was taking over him completely. Or perhaps it wasn't just fear, maybe it wasn't nerves at all, but instead relief to know that somehow he wasn't alone. Of course, he knew that he wasn't alone. He never had been. But his companion was long gone, or so Adam had assumed. He hadn't heard anything from or about him and a part of Adam didn't want to. What would he do with that information? He had nothing to say to him. To Lawrence. To the man who left him. Or maybe he had too much to say, too much that would scare Lawrence away. Make him leave all over again. That was the other part of Adam, the one screaming for answers about what had happened to the person who swore to come back for him. The part that wanted to scream at Lawrence for leaving him behind. Adam didn't know how the authorities had found him there in that godforsaken bathroom, but they never mentioned a doctor who sawed off his foot and somehow survived to save a pathetic photographer. And so, Adam never asked. Not because he didn't want to know, but because he feared what the answer would be. Because no matter how shitty his life was, having someone confirm that the man who risked more than Adam ever had and didn't make it out alive would be enough to have Adam end his own. 

It was easier that way. Easier not knowing. He'd always been a good pretender, a good faker, a good liar.  


He never spoke about Lawrence to Dr. Smith - they mentioned him once, maybe twice, but never by name. Adam couldn't bare to speak the name out loud. Anger, sadness and guilt only came up when he did. Crying alone was okay, but not there, not in front of anyone else. Speaking of it made it all too real, it made _him _too real. In his head Lawrence could be a character, the famous surgeon he had read about in the news papers. Not the person he had followed home, not the person he had kept photos of in his home, not the man he had fantasized about. It was another coping mechanism, Dr. Smith had said.__

__Dr. Smith said a lot of things, but Adam never truly took them into account. Perhaps if he did, he could've experienced a change in his miserable life, but he couldn't recall ever trusting words to make a difference during his lifetime. Perhaps in reality, and not in his twisted mind, he was the only one holding himself back from truly recovering._ _

__The days since his last appointment had moved too fast, and the note on his fridge kept reminding him of the date when he would have to come face to face with people who had survived the infamous serial killer. People just like him. He pondered over taking the note down several times, just to avoid passing it by whenever he visited the bathroom or simply wanted a drink (which was...often, to say the least), but he was too scared that he'd forget. He spent his days inside, curled up on the couch, watching anything but the news while drinking himself to sleep, only to wake up screaming and often with a massive headache that only induced more flashbacks. How fucking convenient._ _

__The rare occasions he actually _left_ his apartment was to either have a smoke out on the fire escape, or head down to the corner store to buy any essentials he may have needed at the time. Most of the times that was a pack of cigarettes, whiskey, cheap bread or instant noodles if they were in stock. Besides that he survived on take-out, delievered directly to his front door. _ _

__When the night before his group therapy session arrived, Adam couldn't sleep. Not that he wanted to. He knew what sleep brought him, but it was rare for him not to be tired at all. He didn't even drink - maybe to make a good impression on the others or probably because he was too worried of throwing it all up. He stayed up that night, watching the sun go down and as it peeked up by the skyline hours later when the birds were chirping and the traffic began forming on the streets outside again. Dr. Smith had promised to pick him up around 10 a.m. so that they'd arrive together to the session. Adam never understood why Dr. Smith was so nice to him; always acting more like a friend than a doctor. _Reminded Adam of another doctor he once knew_. He imagined it was because of Dr. Smith's endless pity towards him, and that only made him despise the only kindness he recieved even more. _ _

__Adam dressed in a black t-shirt with a dark-red flannel shirt on top, accompanied by a pair of black denim jeans, them being the few clean clothes he had left. He prepared what was left of the coffee he somehow had finished and ate a piece of dry bread for breakfast. He couldn't recall a time when he'd managed to be this normal and not completely miserable for the past year, and the realization almost made him feel a bit proud of his progress. _Almost._ __

__As 10 a.m. rolled around, he was stood outside on the street outside of his apartment complex, hands stuffed into the pockets of his leather jacket while waiting for his therapist/'friend'. A black mustang, a model that looked to be from the late 90's, soon pulled up on the street. Adam stared at the car for a moment, before Dr. Smith rolled the window down and waved at him. _Of course he was rich, too. _Adam didn't return the gesture, and simply opened up the door to sit in the passenger seat._ _ _ _

__

__The ride was uneventful, with Dr. Smith trying to make small talk and Adam ignoring his attempts at lightening the mood with (terrible) jokes. Adam was certain he could hear the thumping of his own heart in his chest the longer they drove, and when Dr. Smith eventually pulled the vehicle into a parking lot outside of a smaller medical institution, Adam felt as if he was going to pass out. Why did he agree to this? He wanted to run down the street and never stop, as he stepped outside the car and eyed the building he was about to enter up and down. Too late._ _

__

__It surely looked like an AA-meeting as they stepped inside - alcoholics in shitty clothes had been replaced with people, men and women, wearing either prosthetics or the sad eyes Adam had been described to have ever since he came home from the hospital. If you could call his empty apartment a home. Chairs had been placed out in a circle and only three of them were empty. He was mildly surprised that these people had chosen to show up, but he couldn't exactly say anyting regarding the fact now that he was here himself (even if that was more or less against his will). Adam uncomfortably took a seat in one of the chairs, earning a creaky response from the stool as he did. Adam avoided any eye-contact and began picking at his scab again. No wonder it never healed. The silence in the room was telling. No one wanted to begin. How would you even begin what they all were here for?_ _

__

__He shouldn't have come here._ _

__

Someone cleared their throat and suddenly spoke - but it wasn't a victim. 

__

"I thank you all for coming here," a woman spoke, her tone gentle and warm, which made Adam's urge to vomit even stronger. Adam glanced up towards her. She wore thin blue glasses, had a curvy figure and a black suit on. She moved her brown hair back behind her ear as she stood with her arms in front of her body, hands clasped together. She gave off the odor that an old lady would have, and Adam couldn't tell if it was actually her or some perfume she was wearing. He turned his gaze to the floor, eyes closing. 

__

"My name's Melinda Schnider. I'm a psychologist, experienced when it comes to dealing with PTSD, and I'm here for any support that you may need. I know some of you have your own guidance with you, but I'm still going to be available and my card is going to be by the exit when you leave. If anyone wants to go first, or start off by introducing themselves-" 

__

Her annoying voice was interrupted as the door opened, followed by hurried uneven steps entering the room. Adam turned his head with open eyes now, watching the person's feet as they moved across the floor, eventually reaching the chair opposite Adam's. 

__

"I apologize for rushing in like this," The man that had just spoken said. His words were simple, but something about them felt familiar, Adam thought. His gaze traveled from the feet of the man, landing on his heaving chest. No, no. It wasn't the words. 

__

"Traffic was a _nightmare _."__

__

__It was the voice._ _

__

__The same woman (whose name Adam had already forgotten) seemed to smile, Adam could hear it when she spoke up again. "That's completely fine, doctor. Glad you could join us. Would you like to introduce yourself to the group?"_ _

__

___"Ah, of course, Melinda." The man replied. Adam's mind was racing, thoughts bouncing up and down, back and forward. He barely even made the connection, before the said doctor spoke.___

___"My name is Lawrence Gordon. I'm a survivor of Jigsaw, or as I personally knew him by... John Kramer. Melinda here was my co-worker, and she was the one who invited me to come here."___

___And right then and there, Adam lost all sense of reality. He was staring at the face now, the face of Lawrence Gordon, _his _Lawrence. Flesh and blood. He couldn't believe it. He almost didn't want to. This surely had to be a dream, a hallucination of some sort, no, not reality. Tears burned in his eyes and he couldn't force them back, but it was okay._ _ _ _ _

___It was okay. For once, he believed that it was.___

"I'm glad you could make it here." Adam suddenly said, barely even recognizing his own trembling and shaking voice, stuck between what felt like two worlds. Memories flooded his mind, bad and good, but they didn't hurt. The group turned their heads towards him, and the man who'd once feared to be in the spotlight suddenly didn't care. He barely even noticed. To him there was just Lawrence. 

And as Lawrence's eyes fell back on him, time seemed to stop. The yelp that left Adam's lips was weak and pathetic, but when he fell to the floor and Lawrence's arms wrapped around him, that didn't matter- nothing else seemed to matter. And for the first time in one year, he allowed himself to relax into that feeling, into Lawrence's arms. 


	3. Chapter 3

All of this time he had been running. Running from the memories of what had happened in the bathroom, running from the memory of Lawrence. All of this time, Adam wanted nothing but to get Lawrence back. To hear his voice, to see his face, even if only for one last time. And now, here he was, yet Adam couldn't feel thankful. He only felt anger, and he didn't know what to do with that.

Adam stared at Lawrence from the opposite chair he was now back in. Lawrence avoided to meet his eyes - as if he was ashamed, guilty or perhaps he just hadn't missed Adam at all. Perhaps he had the same thought as Adam; that he shouldn't have come here at all. Right now, Adam wished he'd stayed in bed today, no matter what Dr. Smith had said regarding it. Not knowing about these other people who now shared their stories _so_ easily, not knowing that Lawrence still was alive. He'd rather have the pain and his nightmares and his loneliness, but not this. Not the emotions that he had no clue what to do with. 

"...and we ran, she led the way through the dark, never-ending corridors to this... bathroom. I should've realized something was wrong right then and there.. But the shock took over, I guess and.. all I could think of was surviving. When Xavier came into the room I slumped over in the corner, playing dead against the wall. I thought perhaps he'd leave if he thought we were both dying, but he wanted more than to just kill us.. I should've known.." 

"It's not your fault, Daniel."

Adam lost it. Standing up so fast the chair fell over, he quickly grabbed his jacket and bolted towards the door. He couldn't keep listening to this crap. He could hear Dr. Smith shouting at him, begging him to stay, to just _wait _. Adam didn't listen. He pulled his jacket on and with trembling hands tried to get the pocket zip open to reach his cigarettes. These sort of episodes hadn't occured in a while - he didn't have anything or anyone trigger his anger. _This is why he never left his apartment._ __

__

__

The cigarettes remained in his pocket, and the loud sound of the door slamming behind him made him cover his ears with his hands, eyes closed tightly shut as he stood trying to calm himself down. _Thank fuck the entrance of this goddamn building is empty_ , Adam had thought to himself, as he inhaled a deep breath. He didn't manage to get much further before a hand was between his shoulder blades and he aggressively waved his arms as he turned around. Any calm he'd manage to collect was blown away, just like that. 

__

__

__"Don't fucking touch me!" Adam yelled, and as he opened his eyes he found the familiar doctor standing in front of him._ _

__

__

__"Adam..." Lawrence spoke softly, and Adam turned his back on him again, his hands moving back and forth in his hair._ _

__

__

__Oh, how disgustingly bittersweet it was to hear him speak his name in such a manner. Thinking he could make such a difference. Standing there with his hair slicked back in his fancy suit, looking better than ever. As if nothing even bothered him anymore. God, Lawrence could truly make Adam despise himself more than what he already did just by his sheer presence._ _

__

__

__"Shut the fuck up."_ _

__

__

__"Please, Adam. I just want to help..-"_ _

__

__

__"Oh, you do? You wanna help me in the same way you help all those people in there?" Adam spat the words to the ground, shaking his head as he looked at Lawrence. "All you do is tell them it's not their fault, as if they haven't heard the same shit a hundred times before. Yet they praise you because you're so well-dressed and nothing ever bothers you anymore! If that's what cutting off your own limbs does to you, I wish I hadn't broken that fucking hacksaw."_ _

__

__

__The second after uttering those exact words, Adam could feel the instant regret coming over him. Fuck. What happened next went too fast for Adam's mind to register- within a second he'd been moved off of the floor and pinned up against the wall, with what he guessed was Lawrence's cane pressed up into his ribs as he held Adam in place with his forearm across his upper body, putting extra pressure against the scar on Adam's shoulder. He _remembered_. Why that came as such a surprise to Adam, he didn't know._ _

__

__

____

___A whimper actually left Adam's lips as Lawrence's face hovered only inches away from his own, and the anger and hurt and _shame_ was burning like a wildfire in Lawrence's blue eyes. The sight made Adam hate his words, hate himself for thinking he could make himself feel superior by speaking them. He desperately wanted to avoid the sight of Lawrence in this state that he had brought upon him, but he couldn't. ___

__

__

__"Don't _ever_ wish such a thing upon yourself. You hear me? Not ever again."__

__

It took another moment of staring, another hitched breath leaving Adam's lips, before he managed to nod. He didn't know what he could possibly say, but Lawrence didn't ask for more. He simply let him go and took a step back, but Adam stayed in place up by the wall with his hand rubbing his hurt shoulder. 

__

Pathetic. 

__

The tense silence was disrupted by a door opening, and Dr. Smith's voice calling out for Adam again. That's when Lawrence left. Giving Adam a last glance, before turning and heading back towards the room Adam had only recently left. Adam's head sank, eyes on the floor as he heard the cane hitting the floor with each step Lawrence took. And then the sounds were gone. Lawrence was gone. Again. 

__

It didn't take long before an arm was around his shoulders, and encouragely tugged him towards the exit. 

__

"Come on. I'll take you home." Smith told him.

__

Adam didn't protest.

__


	4. Chapter 4

Adam stared up at the ceiling above him. He was back in his bed, laying on top of the blankets with his clothes still on. It was too much of a hassle to take them off. But the clothes he wore had a meaning to them today, and that was new. They'd left the apartment and not only to visit the store, and they'd been touched by someone who wasn't Adam. A certain scent still lingered against his upper body- perhaps it was Adam's imagination playing up a scene from his mind he subconsciously wished for, but it was good enough of a reason to keep them on.

For the first time he laid there, reliving the happenings that had occured throughout the day. He'd never done that before, mostly because he didn't want yet another reminder of how _miserable_ he was. But today had been different, and he both hated and loved to say that it was because of Lawrence. Before, Lawrence had only been a mild fantasy. Adam had created a new Lawrence in his head, a happier one. It was better than to hear him screaming anytime Adam thought of him. But Lawrence was alive. He was alive and he was okay (or at least as okay as you could be after what they had suffered through), and Adam didn't think he'd ever get to experience that outside of his mind.

But all of this information had been delivered in such a way that Adam had no idea what to do. He was angry with Lawrence; angry for leaving him behind and angry for never getting in touch. It was the least he could've done, Adam thought. The sadness overcame him again as he thought of this, but he fought the tears back. No, this wasn't anger. It was sadness portrayed as anger, because Adam had never learned to deal with sadness. Abandoned at six years old by a father who only told him to 'man up', and bullied as a kid in school - this is what he had become. _At least he wasn't a fucking psychopath._

He ran his hand across his neck, crossing his collarbone until he eventually reached the familiar bumps in his skin. He could feel them through his clothing, and he wondered if Lawrence had too. Adam had always been ashamed of his scar. Not because he thought it was any form of disfigurement, but because this was the reminder of how alive he was. How much his body had been able to endure. He wondered if that's what Jigsaw wanted to accomplish, but on further debating the subject in his head he quickly decided for what he thought:

He didn't care.

Jigsaw was gone. The bathroom was over. But Lawrence wasn't.

Adam remembered what he had told Lawrence there, when he'd been shackled by the ankle and watching the time on the clock move closer to their eventual doom. He'd told him about his family, his relatives he'd gotten in touch with in his teenage years and how he'd fucked his relationship with them up. How he never appreciated what they did for him. He remembered telling Lawrence how he wanted to fix it, and if he'd get the chance he would. They were dead now, for all that he knew, but there was still someone he could try to make up with. 

This didn't have to mean the end for him and Lawrence, whatever they were. He'd fucked up. But he wanted Lawrence in his life, hell, he _needed_ him. And if he still had a chance to keep him, he would fight for that. It was all he truly had left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> short chapter this time, but i'll make up for it. promise.


	5. Chapter 5

The days since Adam's first encounter with Lawrence Gordon after the bathroom had moved painfully slow. He had no means of contacting Lawrence, though he wasn't quite sure he wanted to do this over the phone anyways. It wasn't fair to either of them. But the wait alone was tearing him apart all over again. Dr. Smith had informed him of when the group sessions would be taking place, if he ever wanted to return, but Adam had seen that even Dr. Smith doubted that Adam would actually go back there after what happened the last time. Adam had been both amused and offended, but allowed himself a chuckle at the thought of his therapist's face when the news of what he was planning to do would reach his office. 

Adam spent hours during the days, locked inside his own bathroom and staring at his own reflection. Preparing a speech, or at least trying to come up with one. He wasn't sure why. He wasn't even sure why he was so desperate to apologize to Lawrence- he hadn't done anything wrong. This was on Jigsaw, John Kramer, whatever you wanted to call him. Neither of them were innocent, but they also weren't to blame for the situation that was. Yet he was stood trying to impress himself with intellectual words of philosophy and wisdom, something that Lawrence would only find odd coming from Adam (especially when Adam did, too). He truly disgusted himself sometimes. 

* * *

Tick, tock. The clock on the wall opposite him ticked, reminding him that with each second that passed, he was one step closer to seeing Lawrence again. He'd been seated outside of the room where the group sessions were held for a good thirty minutes now. He had contemplated going in several times- but he wasn't here for therapy. Therapy had never worked on him. He was here for Lawrence, and he was better off waiting out here than in there.

He wondered if Lawrence talked about him. If he ever talked at all. Did he relive the pain of the bathroom while sharing it with others, or was it like a twisted joke for him to tell? Adam could barely decide what it was for him. A bit of both? Neither? He didn't know. But then again, he'd never tried to share his experiences with anyone else who had survived a similar game. They were like two sides of the same coin. They had fought and survived under the same circumstances, but with different goals and aspirations now when they were free. Lawrence had continued on his path as a doctor. He wanted to help others heal. Adam couldn't even let himself do that. Lawrence had let go of the past, and Adam had hitched his hooks into the darkness of the bathroom that he just couldn't forget. 

The door swung open, and Adam was forced out of his thoughts. He sat up straight, a heavy breath leaving his lips, before he desperately scanned the hall as the group of people flooded out of it towards the exit. Adam avoided their eyes, yet he could feel their gaze lingering on him. The thought suddenly hit him. What if Lawrence wasn't here? Adam had simply assumed he would come, without thinking of the possibilites of him being sick, stuck in traffic... or at home, with a family. Adam wanted to pound his head against the wall. God, he was _so_ stupid. 

He stood from the chair he had sat in, quickly gathering his things to get out of there. 

So stupid. 

Bolting towards the exit, a voice was there, stopping him dead in his tracks. 

"Adam."

The voice wasn't as soft as he'd expected, no, it was, but not the kind he approved of. Heavy breathing.  
One, two, three, four seconds. 

"I wasn't aware you would show up."

Adam closed his eyes. The voice belonged to the lady, whatever her name was, the one from the first meeting. The creator of the group sessions for Jigsaw survivors. He glanced at her over his shoulder, before he turned around completely to face her. 

"Hi, miss." He said, awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck. "I wasn't here for the meeting, I, uh..."  
_So stupid._

She smiled, for some reason she smiled, and Adam wanted to run. "I guessed so. He's still here, you know." 

"Uh, what?"

"Melinda." Lawrence's voice came through, as he was the last person to leave the room. His coat hung around his shoulders and he gripped the cane tightly in his hand. Adam stared. In awe, in shock, in pure satisfaction. The woman gave a short nod, before she walked off, meeting Lawrence halfway back to the room. She whispered something to him, and Adam felt the need to guess that it was about him. Melinda soon disappeared into the room again, closing the door behind her. 

Silence. 

"You'll have to excuse her..-" Lawrence began, as his cane began clicking against the floor once again. 

"You've told her about me." Adam couldn't help but interrupt him. He needed his thoughts confirmed, needed to know that her words had been said because of Lawrence and not because he was so fucking transparent.  
Was he?

Lawrence allowed a small smile to tug at the corners of his mouth.  
Click, pause, click, pause. 

"Yes."

Adam swallowed. They were close now. Not as close as before, but close enough for his nerves to start acting up. His hands were trembling and he shoved them into his pockets.  
They looked at each other, staring, pondering, waiting. Adam didn't know what to say. All those speeches, all his thoughts had been washed away and there was nothing left to say. No anger nor sadness, no past there to interfere, just the present. And perhaps that was okay. 

"Can I buy you a coffee?"  
_To make up for last time._

"Sure. If you let me drive you home."  
_Because I can't stand to leave you behind again._


	6. Chapter 6

The window was stained with raindrops that had began falling over the city just when the two men had found the comfort inside the warm coffee shop that Lawrence had suggested. Adam had accepted the offer- he didn't care where they went, not really. It was coffee. Then again, he wouldn't have known where to go. Coffee alone wasn't his thing, and on top of it all he rarely ever left his apartment. He wondered if Lawrence knew. Knew about the nightmares, the endless showers of tears and hot water that drowned him at 3am, the bad drinking habits that left him knocked out with a worse hangover each time. Adam always imagined it to be visible in his eyes. In the dark circles that he could feel weighing his eyelids down each day that he spent awake. Or in the way he carried himself as he walked. Perhaps that was why people allowed their gaze to linger for so long, perhaps that's why mothers dragged their children closer to their sides when they saw Adam approaching. Because he had turned into something he himself couldn't recognize, and because of that he didn't know how to change, how to help himself, how to- 

"Adam." 

His thoughts were once again disturbed by a voice, a familiar voice this time though, and Adam nearly knocked his coffee out because of how sudden it all came. He looked up, straightening his back as he did and met Lawrence's eyes. Last time he had checked, Lawrence's eyes had been on the rainy street outside, and Adam recalled thinking how peaceful he looked. Now, the doctor's eyes were on him, and they held concern, worry, _care_. But the one thing Adam had grown to hate wasn't there - pity. It always was, no matter who he met or interacted with. They always looked at him in the same way, yet Lawrence had to be the exception. He always was.

"You okay?" The doctor proceeded to ask, and Adam felt the need to force an awkward smile.

"Yeah. Just stuck in thoughts, that's all." He said, spinning the spoon in his coffee around to make his hands busy with something other than the endless drumming against the table that he had caught himself doing.

Lawrence took a sip of his coffee. Adam simply watched. One, two, three, four, five seconds. The cup was placed back down on the table, Adam gulped and Lawrence lowered his head. 

The silence was unbearable, but Adam had nothing to say. Or maybe he just had too many things to say and simply had nowhere to begin.

"I thought you were dead." Adam found himself speaking after another moment, his eyes glued to Lawrence's hands rather than his face. Perfect place to begin, eh?

Lawrence looked away, out of the window again, Adam could see that from the corner of his eye. He puffed out a breath, before he finally turned back to Adam. 

"Yeah. I was, for a while. Died in the hospital. They somehow brought me back. Said I was a fighter." Lawrence told him with an uncertain chuckle. Adam smiled; there was something odd about hearing the _doctor_ explain how he had been the one to lay on a stretcher fighting for his life, rather than the one trying to save the patient's life. 

"I wanted to reach out to you, Adam, I did..."

"Why didn't you?"

The silence fell between the two men yet again. This time their eyes finally met though- Lawrence holding something back in his and Adam's eyes screaming, demanding answers. _Why did I have to be left behind?_ It was a selfish thought, but Lawrence seemed to have it all still. Family, friends, supporters. Yet he looked for an excuse, a good reason to why he couldn't just give Adam a call, send him a message, let him know that he was fine and that he thought of Adam too. 

"There's been a lot going on. I don't want to bore you with the details."

"That's the shittiest excuse you can pull. You think I haven't had a fucking lot too?" Adam leaned back in his seat, shaking his head. "I had to deal with journalists not giving a shit about my feelings, all they cared for was a fucking interview for the first three months after I had gotten out of the hospital. And when they finally left me alone, I almost missed them - why? Because I had no one. Only a therapist that pitied me every time I set my foot inside his office." 

Silence. 

Adam scoffed, breaking the silence. Perhaps his thoughts of Lawrence had been to high. Because right now, he seemed just like anyone else that had left Adam behind in the past. Pushing his coffee cup that he'd barely touched away, he moved his chair back and stood up. Lawrence didn't stop him. It was better that way, it was better that way, Adam told himself. He didn't want him anyways. But still, a small part wanted Lawrence to just hold him, hug him and tell him it would be okay, that he was there and wasn't going again.

Just when he thought he had passed Lawrence's side of the table without any trouble, something pulled him back. At first, Adam was certain his shirt had somehow gotten stuck in the chair because of how sudden the pull on the fabric had been. But on further investigation, he found Lawrence's arm stretched out and his fingers tightly gripping the back of Adam's shirt.

His heart dropped, not because of the action, but because of the look that could be found in Lawrence's eyes. He looked desperate, on the verge of tears and his hand trembled slightly as he clutched onto Adam. Images of the bloody bathroom floor and how Adam had been the one to hold onto Lawrence back then flashed in front of him and he wanted to close his eyes, shake his head to make them fade, but he couldn't take his eyes off of the doctor. Adam stood still, staring, waiting for the bomb to drop. Lawrence slowly raised his head to meet Adam's gaze one last time, before he spoke again.

"Let me explain. Just... not here."

Explosion. Adam nodded his head, completely giving in to the doctor's wants and needs. It was too easy for him to get Adam under his control, it almost scared the photographer. Yet he walked out of the coffee shop together with the doctor, with no intentions of running away, not anymore, because he had hope now. Hope that Lawrence would apologize. As they sat back in the warmth of Lawrence's car, Adam looked over at his current companion and wondered if he'd ever be able to save himself from the trauma and guilt that stabbed his chest as he looked at the doctor.

But perhaps he didn't need to.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i finished this at 7am so please excuse any bigger spelling/grammar mistakes lol. other than that i hope you enjoy the chapter, and thank you for reading this far.

Adam wasn't quite sure what he had expected, or more precisely, _where_ he had expected them to go. A park? Perhaps not in the rain. But he certainly had not expected to be brought home to Lawrence's house already. As they pulled up outside of the complex the doctor lived in, Adam found it odd- it didn't look the same as the last time he was here (photographing Lawrence, so to speak). Perhaps those memories had been more or less repressed after everything else he had been through. No, no. That didn't feel right. There was something off with it, with the outside and how it looked, but he had no time to figure out what exactly that was as he heard Lawrence open the door to step out. After inhaling a breath, Adam decided to do the same. He unbuckled his seatbelt and pushed the door open, before setting foot on the wet ground. He closed the door behind him and looked up at the doctor who already was on his way inside of the building. Adam quietly followed, like a good dog hanging after its owner like an extra shadow. None of them said a word on their way up. Only their hearts spoke a language that could be translated into nothing but nerves.

Smalltalk wasn't exactly their thing, either.

Lawrence lived on the third floor, and his apartment was located on the left side when you stepped out from the, surprisingly old, elevator (contrary to the rest of the building which was fresh and new). The keys made a happy jingle as Lawrence picked them up from the pocket on his coat and unlocked the door. Rather than stepping in first, he welcomed Adam in, something the younger man found rather unpleasant. He never liked having people behind him - he lost the feeling of control, and was immediatly certain whoever it was only wanted to hurt him by pressing a needle into his neck. _Shudder_. But he put his trust in Lawrence, in another human being, for the first time in one year, even if it was done very, very hesitantly. Keeping a glance over his shoulder, he took a large step as he stepped inside of Lawrence's home, expecting there to be life and movement around. The doctor had a family, a daughter. But it was eerily silent in the apartment, as if the walls had soaked up any happiness there may have been left and dried it, only for it to slowly vanish into empty nothingness.

Adam stepped out of his shoes, only to be polite, and placed them on a small rug next to the front door. He heard the door close as Lawrence had stepped inside, which brought him some comfort. He headed deeper inside, reaching the kitchen first. He could tell this was a big place already, bigger than his own, but as the successful doctor Lawrence was, he would be stupid not to buy a place like this. The kitchen had a open, clear space, with a little counter island in the middle. Marble stone covered the top of it, and the rest was painted in wooden black. He was astonished at the sight, and how clean it had been kept. The floor was in dark wood, similar to the rest of the apartment's aesthetic.

Lawrence soon joined him in the kitchen area, and Adam decided to pop the first question of the night.

"No wife at home?" He asked, looking over at the doctor.

The question made Lawrence's mouth curve up into a smile, while he poured himself a glass of whiskey by the counter. "No, no..." He took a pause to raise his glass towards Adam, as if to ask if he wanted one too. As much as Adam would've needed a drink right now, he declined, too afraid of the things he would do or say if he got alcohol in his system right now. Lawrence put the bottle of whiskey down, before he joined Adam by the counter island. After taking a sip of his drink, he continued.

"The wife and I aren't together anymore." He said, holding up his hand to show the empty space where a golden ring once had been. "We'd already seen it coming, even before, you know, and well... after everything we decided it was best to part ways."

"Oh." Adam heard himself say, actually not being surprised (nor upset) with those words. "You still seeing Diana?" He asked carefully.

"Yeah," Lawrence responded happily. "Every other week. Getting bigger each time."

Adam smiled at that - Lawrence had clearly always been proud of his daughter, judging by the way he spoke of her, but this time it was visible in his eyes. Adam himself had never really liked children, or wanted any of his own, but Lawrence's pride and love towards his daughter made Adam almost ache for a child himself.

Once again, the silence seemed to fall again, and the familiar tension began to build. Adam wasn't sure whether or not to initiate the topic they'd had back at the coffee shop. It was something that needed mentioning, and Adam still wanted some sort of reply to his question, but perhaps it could wait. The silence didn't last for long though, and before Adam could even offer his suggestion at just waiting with the seriousness, Lawrence was already at it.

"The truth is, Adam... I was scared. Scared that you weren't even alive and if you were, I didn't know if you wanted to hear from me. It's a stupid thought, I know... But the guilt took over. And I avoided even thinking about it, about you, for as long as I possibly could. I regret letting that happen now, I do. But that's my explanation. You deserve at least that from me.

Lawrence nodded a little, his head lowered, before he looked up to meet Adam's eyes. "I may seem to have it all and sometimes I can pretend that I do. But nothing feels quite the same after what I- what _we_ , went through. I've met so many people who's been through Jigsaw's games, but they weren't there for the same reasons. I look at you now and you just... you just get it. Or maybe I just missed you. Either way... I'm glad to have you here."

The words flooded into Adam's mind like his favorite song and thousands of impressions of what he should think and say crashed together all at once. Lawrence told him everything he'd ever wanted to hear, and it seemed too perfect to be true. What a fucking cliché, but that's how he felt. And no matter how much he hated clichés, he would've chosen this over any miserable thought and any painful memories.

Adam gave a nod, breaking their eye contact for a second. "Yeah, no. I get what you mean." He said, glancing back at Lawrence with a small smile tugging at his lips. "The group sessions really weren't for me. Perhaps it's just that I don't want to listen to the same stories over and over. It makes it all too real. And sometimes it's just nice to pretend it's been a bad dream. And I think you get that too."

"Oh, trust me. I do." Lawrence chuckled, shaking his head. "It's rather bizarre, isn't it? This whole thing."

"Yeah, no shit." Adam laughed, for the first time in what felt like forever he let out a genuine laugh. For the first time, what had happened to the two of them didn't feel like yesterday. It didn't feel like Jigsaw himself was breathing down Adam's fucking neck. Had he started to feel free? No matter what it was that he was feeling, he didn't want it to end.


	8. Chapter 8

Lawrence's thumb ran across Adam's knuckles, across every wrinkle and every corner, circling his bones with care and finess. His touch was firm, steady, like a surgeon's hand would be. Lawrence's eyes weren't on Adam, but focused on his hands as they caressed the skin. The younger man hadn't felt such a touch, any touch actually, in a long time. He wasn't sure if it felt absolutely amazing or simply terrifying. It had hit him that he didn't know much at all about Lawrence- he was a surgeon, had survived Jigsaw's game just like Adam had, had a daughter. But nothing else. Yet he had chosen to confide in him, to trust him. Lawrence was capable of doing anything, and Adam had yet again been involuntary placed as the underdog. First the bathroom, now this. At least Lawrence's home wasn't as shitty.

But it was hard for Adam to resist. Anything that would further prove that Lawrence was real and not a product of Adam's mind was something Adam needed. To feel the warm hand against his own was a start.

"How do you cope with it?" Adam asked, eyes still focused on Lawrence's face. 

Lawrence stirred from his trance-like state and shifted his eyes upwards to meet Adam's gaze for a short while. "My leg, you mean?" He asked softly.

"Partly." Adam swallowed, leaning back against the couch cushions as Lawrence's hands returned to rest in his own lap, as he positioned himself next to Adam again. They weren't close enough to touch anymore, but Adam could still sense the cologne on the surgeon. That was good enough. "You don't have to..."

"It's okay." Lawrence tone was soft, and his hand had reached over to land on top of Adam's thigh. The younger man's breath hitched in his throat, staying that way until Lawrence's touch had faded once again. All he could manage was a nod, before Lawrence spoke again.

"It was hard at the beginning. I didn't want to accept that I'd been capable of doing such a thing to myself and survived," Lawrence eyes stared forward into the room, avoiding Adam's gaze as if he hadn't been there to see what the doctor had done to save himself. "I didn't want to live with it."

Adam gulped. "But you did. You do."

"I got help."

And he left it at that. The younger male accepted that. Adam wondered if therapy had actually worked on Lawrence, but it must've if he was feeling better. Adam could feel a sense of guilt hit him, guilty for still having nightmares, guilty for not appreciating his life. Lawrence was doing good. Why wasn't he?

"You still photographing?" Lawrence voice erupted from the silence, and Adam turned to glance over at the doctor. He'd almost forgotten that he used to do that for a living. He didn't know where his camera was- probably hidden in one of the boxes that he'd been too traumatized to unpack after moving to his new apartment. Adam didn't want to look at it; it was dirty, filthy with memories that he wanted to suppress. The images would be even worse.

"No, not really." He responded casually, shrugging his shoulders lightly.

Before another conversation could be initiated, Adam was up on his feet and soon found himself in the kitchen, leaning up against the counter while he stood with a glass of expensive whiskey in his hand that he hadn't asked Lawrence if he could drink. He was just tired- mentally, physically, everything. He needed a break from reality. His heart almost exploded in his chest when a warm hand landed on his arm. The glass slipped out of his other hand, but was somehow caught in the doctor's grasp and placed in safety on the counter. Lawrence stood so close to him now and just that was enough to make him lose his mind all over again. God, he was so in love and it was pathetic.

"Adam." Lawrence's hand moved up to Adam's chin, caressing his face with his thumb. "You're pale as a ghost."

"Sweating, too. Guess I must be getting sick." Sarcasm apparently wasn't appreciated, as showed by Lawrence rolling his eyes at the younger male.

"You need to rest..." Lawrence was about to go on with some other bullshit that Adam didn't want to listen to. Not now, not ever.

"No, I just need you! Don't you get it? I've needed you since day one, needed you to know I'm not alone. But I still am. You make me feel so alone, more than ever actually, yet I'm still fucking head over heels for you."

The words slipped Adam's mouth before he could restrict himself and he wanted to scream, and this time he was genuinely about to, but Lawrence's lips met his own before he could go through with that. It all felt like dream, a dream he never wanted to end. Adam's arms slipped around the taller male's waist, grasping at his shirt, fumbling with the clothing while Lawrence's tongue slipped in between Adam's wet lips. He pulled him as close as he possibly could and their kisses were sloppy and disgusting, as if they were fourteen again and sitting in the back of a dark movie theatre and experimenting with kissing for the first time. But Adam didn't care.

Lawrence's body pressed against Adam's and their crotches rubbed up against each other, making Adam's bulge grow bigger as he felt Lawrence's own erection forming. He was already moaning into the doctor's mouth, wanting him to _hurry_ , but Lawrence took his time. His hands moved underneath Adam's shirt, his warm hands burning into Adam's skin, marking him. The piece of clothing soon left Adam's body and ended up on the floor, Lawrence's lips down on Adam's neck now. The black-haired male leaned his head back, while his hands held Lawrence's neck. Moans still erupted from his throat, his head spinning.

"Lawrence," he breathed, eyes closed. "Please. Please.."

He could feel Lawrence's smirk against his exposed skin and he wanted to roll his eyes, but when the older man's hands grasped his crotch it was hard to focus on anything else.


End file.
